


ready for the bad things to come

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Crying, Disassociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escapism, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Rough Oral Sex, Sad with a Happy Ending, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux and Kylo are alone now. But will what exists between them ever be the same again?
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 9
Kudos: 139





	ready for the bad things to come

**Author's Note:**

> Just another small post-TRoS drabble.
> 
> Sorry I haven't been writing much, I had a convention and I've sort of been dealing with self-confidence and motivation issues again. Hopefully we're back on track now.

Too much had happened far too quickly. And that was only counting the last cycle—or however long it had been, since Hux had scraped Kylo up from a blasted pit on a far-off Sith planet and stowed him away on a stolen First Order shuttle. 

By the time Hux’s heart had stopped hammering, and the ship was set to autopilot towards the planet where he had established a safe house nearly half a year ago, after the disaster at Batuu, Kylo had already woken up atop the cot in the ship’s hull Hux had dragged him to. And thus, with his hands useless to the pre-guided controls and mind going to static looking at the stark vacuum of space around them both, Hux had gone to him. 

For once, he hadn’t a clear plan in mind. His next steps focused on logistics, on survival, with no contingencies regarding what to do about _them_. Too much had happened far too quickly—and now, there was nothing. Nothing but each other, and the quiet, full of unsaid things—insults, questions, apologies—that still lingered between. 

Hux cleared his throat. He stood before Kylo, who had sat up and planted his feet on the floor of the shuttle, but refused to look up at Hux, instead fixing his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of the ex-general’s injured leg. Kylo’s expression is unreadable, partly obscured by his matted hair and the bruises and cuts littering his face. 

Hux had wanted to fold his arms, to adopt the posture he’d adopted hundreds of times before, when he’d lectured Kylo for his foolishness, his instability, his insanity. But his legs, his mind, refused to obey the orders of the old General Hux, the _dead_ General Hux, and instead he had found himself sinking to his knees in between that strong pair of legs, so he could look up at Kylo’s haunted, barely contained face. 

Hux had lifted his hand—perhaps to caress Kylo’s filthy, scarred face, or tuck an errant curl behind one ear, or maybe grab his head and pull him into his chest—but his palm found its way to the meet of Kylo’s legs instead, to give his flaccid cock a searching, almost forlorn squeeze through his pants. 

And that was how it started, how Hux had wound up with Kylo’s cock in his mouth, inside a shuttle drifting in an aimless, lonely part of space. 

Hux’s heart hammers with a mix of adrenaline and fear, despite the fact that there is no way anyone could observe them like this, not with the First Order decimated and both of them considered dead to the galaxy at large. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. How many times had they found themselves like this? Stealing away to quiet corridors and empty meeting rooms on the _Finalizer_ , opening their minds and bodies to the forbidden allure of passion—passion that had been fouled, all too easily, by the machinations and manipulations of powers and presences beyond them, that pulled them apart like marionettes, mere toys and playthings, their fates predestined to stray apart no matter how desperately they tried to cling to one another. 

Hux had thought these feelings were lost for good, after Kylo killed Snoke and seized the throne of Supreme Leader. He thought the needy between them had vanished, choked out of him like air from his throat. Kylo had won their confusing power struggle, their duel of conflicting emotions. He’d put Hux forever beneath him. 

But now, there is no Supreme Leader. There is no First Order. General Hux has shrunk back into Armitage, stripped of even the trappings of his rank, while Kylo is now bereft of his long clung-to destiny. They are nothing, now. Little more than a thick cock, freed from a pair of dirty black pants, and a warm mouth, desperate to be filled so Hux could forget. 

Above him, Kylo grunts, his fingers raking through Hux’s hair, mussing it up even further as Hux pushes his lips to the root of his cock. Kylo’s unwashed pubic curls smell of sweat and battle musk, with a hint of burnt ozone still lingering from whatever epic conflagration he’d engaged in, that Hux had missed but nonetheless rescued him from. Hux knows he must probably smell as well, so far from his former, militarily pristine self, with the bandages wrapped around his leg and chest in sore need of changing. But at the moment, he doesn’t mind, or doesn’t have the energy to mind, the energy for anything else other than this, this singular point of warmth and pressure and pleasure. Hux lets his eyes flutter shut and his expression slacken, focusing only on the movement of the cock in his mouth and the needy, possessive way that his tongue and throat close over it. 

Kylo’s hips jolt off the cot, a hiss rolling off his tongue. He’s rough with Hux, though there’s not as much malice behind his thrusts as Hux would’ve expected, Kylo feeling more animal than the vicious, uncaring Supreme Leader he was. Hux hears his name vaguely, but it’s all but lost amidst Kylo’s grunts and groans and the static in Hux’s own ears, wrapping in a filmy haze around his mind as he allows Kylo to use him, to fuck his mouth and throat and penetrate him as far as he can reach. Slick muscles spasm and the sensitive flesh almost burns with the ferocity and clumsiness of Kylo’s thrusts, but Hux continues to relax and suckle obediently, the pain a welcome spark across his tingling skin, cathartic. 

And then Kylo comes. He throws back his head and arcs his hips off the cot, rubber soles of his boots grinding audibly into the shuttle floor, and buries himself as deep inside of Hux as he can. 

Then as his cock warms and twitches and bursts into the back of Hux’s throat, trickling soured come into his body, Hux reaches some form of threshold and the tenuous, dissociative illusion snaps. He chokes, _actually_ chokes on the length inside of him, and suddenly tears well up in his eyes and spill over before he can stop them, trailing down his cheeks to collect at his chin in fat, pendulous beads. 

For a long moment, Kylo doesn’t pull out, though surely he must’ve noticed by now the man falling apart for little reason around his softening cock. Shame tremors through Hux’s heart as foreign sensations that he’s been valiantly holding back burst free and threaten to drown his mind. He’s still a miserable wretch, at the end of the day, still pathetic before Kylo, even when the both of them have lost everything they’ve ever strived for, everything that made them the men they used to be. It’s not enough, to be just a hole, a body, a throat to fuck and fill. He’s more than that, and it’s terrible, and it’s too much. 

Hux almost wishes he could just jettison himself out the airlock right now, leave the striving and surviving to someone less weak, less ridiculously fragile _—_ yet then, he feels the grip in his hair soften, changing to a gentle caress.

“Armitage…”

Kylo finally pulls out, limp cock retreating from Hux’s mouth and slipping out from between his lips. It leaves a mess of saliva and spent come on his skin, frothing with the tears, but Hux finds his attention not focused on that but instead drawn to Kylo as the man’s other hand comes to cup his cheek. And in the dark eyes that survey him _—_ not with pity, but with longing, sorrow, a scrap of _hope—_ Hux finds some strange, bewildering kind of solace. 

They move at the same time, perhaps so that later both can deny having initiated it. Somehow, the embrace that follows, full of sobs and snot and strange, desperate sensations—feels more intimate than anything that had come before.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated, as always. 
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


End file.
